


Words of Fire

by kerithwyn



Series: Kink_Bingo 2012 [4]
Category: Fringe
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, F/M, Let's Get Astrid Laid, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:26:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerithwyn/pseuds/kerithwyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lincoln has something to say.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words of Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kink_bingo 2012: writing on the body.

Astrid loves words. She loves language, the interplay of sound and meaning, the beauty of written script. The first time she viewed a collection of illuminated manuscripts, at the Cloisters in New York, she stood in front of the cases and wept. The few other tourists gave her a wide berth; the curator merely handed her a tissue and smiled, and after she had collected herself, he’d invited Astrid to see some of the rarer manuscripts not on display.

Her final honors linguistics thesis had incorporated her interest in computer science. (Farnsworth, Astrid. “Cognitive Language Engineering: Improving Human/Computer Interfaces.” Honors thesis, Haverford College, 2005.) If her life had taken a different path, she might have gone on for her Master’s and Ph.D. in computational linguistics. Instead, for the past few years she’s been auditing online science courses from as many accredited sources as she could manage: biology and chemistry and physics and genetics and biomedical engineering from Yale, MIT, Johns Hopkins, and any other university that made its coursework openly available. The actual degree didn’t matter, as long as she could keep up with what Walter was talking about. Or at least, have enough of a foundation to keep from asking the really stupid questions.

Maybe not the words she thought she’d be working with, but their little team saves lives and keeps the world from imploding under its own weirdness. Reward enough, and she’s grateful for the opportunity to be useful in a way she never thought possible.

But these days Astrid has other reasons to be thankful, and most of those can be summed up in one name: Lincoln Lee.

They’ve been dating for five months now, and things between them are as easy as they possibly could be. Easier, even. Lincoln respects her space but together they’ve found a rhythm, an unforced give-and-take that Astrid hasn’t had with a lover for years.

Even when he can’t find the words, she knows how he feels.

Thanks to a quiet day at the lab, she and Lincoln are able to escape for dinner earlier than usual. But when they get back to her apartment, instead of cuddling together on the couch or in bed as usual, Lincoln surprises her.

“Astrid--” he catches her hand. “I wanted to try something.”

“Okay,” she says, smiling, because chances are whatever it is will be just fine with her.

“I picked up these pens,” Lincoln says, digging into his pocket and holding up what look like thin colored markers. “I wanted to...write some things down. On you. The ink’s water-based and washes away easily. I made sure,” he says quickly, as if she had any intention of objecting.

She’s *delighted.* It’s not like he’s been shy about what he wants in the bedroom—startlingly uninhibited, even, once the glasses come off—but this is something new, and Astrid’s always happy to try new things. Especially when new things come from such an earnest face. “I’d love to. Now?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Lincoln’s smile is full of anticipation. “I’ve been thinking about this all day.”

Astrid takes a deep breath to cover the low flutter in her belly. If Lincoln’s really had this idea in mind for awhile, she doesn’t want to sidetrack him. No matter how enjoyable the diversion would be. “Guess I should be naked, then.”

“Always,” Lincoln murmurs, and the response is so ingenuous that Astrid can’t help darting in for a quick kiss before heading toward the bedroom.

“Okay,” she calls out as she strips down, wondering why he hasn’t followed her in. She gets her answer a moment later when Lincoln comes in with a towel and a glass of water. 

The look he gives her says he’s thinking about a diversion too, but his focus wins out. “Lie on your stomach.”

After she’s settled Lincoln runs the dry towel over her back, and then his hand. “I keep wanting to say ‘you have beautiful skin’ without sounding like a lotion commercial.” He pauses. “Or Hannibal Lecter.”

“You did fine,” she says, smiling into the pillow. 

“Thank you for this,” he says quietly, and after a moment she feels the first brush of the pen against her skin.

For the first few moments she tries to decipher what he’s writing by feel, but that’s really not the point. Astrid relaxes, letting the sensations speak for themselves: the smooth drag of the marker across her back, Lincoln’s deliberate placement of the writing, his careful hand. He moves around the bed, finding angles to write from, occasionally (surprisingly rarely, given the ink’s tendency to smear) correcting his work with a wet fingertip.

Astrid lets herself sink into the sensation, nearly hypnotized by the glide of ink against her skin. By the time Lincoln recaps the pen, she’s feeling drowsy, relaxed, and loved.

Lincoln picks up his phone and after a couple moments of silence he takes what sounds like more than a few pictures. 

She stirs a little to signal her attention. “Can I see?”

“Yes.” Lincoln taps the screen, then picks up his tablet and does the same. “This is what I see when I look at you.”

He leans over and puts the tablet on the pillow, and Astrid props herself up on her elbows to watch a video scroll over the screen.

Words shine in sparkling gold across her back. The longest inscription runs along the length of her spine: _fair, beautiful goddess,_ the traditional meaning of her name. Below that, crosswise, the less familiar translation: _divine strength._

Her breath catches as the video plays. _kind,_ she sees, and _brilliant,_ and _brave._ _compassionate_ rounds her shoulder blade and _sexy_ graces the top of her right buttock. Flanking her spine on either side she sees _gentle_ and _fierce._ Along her ribs she reads _joyful_ and _honest_ and _generous._

And very small, on the nape of her neck: _mine._

She taps back and forth through the still photos, pausing often, blinking away tears. Lincoln is watching her, obviously pleased by both his effort and her reaction. 

“It’s beautiful. Oh, Lincoln, thank you.” She sits up and takes his face in her hands. “You always know just what to say.”

He laughs, they both do, and he kisses her carefully, his hands resting at his sides so he doesn’t accidentally smudge his fine work. When she leans toward him, he draws back with caution. “The ink will smear,” Lincoln protests, not strongly.

Astrid smiles. “That’s what we have the pictures for.” She pulls him down with her and they create another language between them, not needing words at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to this awesome guide to [ writing on the body.](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/477393.html) And to this poem for the title:
> 
>  _I will write in words of fire.  
>  I will write them on your skin.  
> I will write about desire.  
> Write beginnings, write of sin.  
> You’re the book I love the best,  
> your skin only holds my truth,  
> you will be a palimpsest  
> lines of age rewriting youth.  
> You will not burn upon the pyre.  
> Or be buried on the shelf.  
> You’re my letter to desire:  
> And you’ll never read yourself.  
> I will trace each word and comma  
> As the final dusk descends,  
> You’re my tale of dreams and drama,  
> Let us find out how it ends._  
> \-- Neil Gaiman


End file.
